


On the Way There

by Sauou



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Highschool AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 03:07:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauou/pseuds/Sauou
Summary: The Original Version of Confetti Hearts.It was originally an extension of Moogla but I didn’t want to make it more than a one-shot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The Original Version of Confetti Hearts.
> 
> It was originally an extension of Moogla but I didn’t want to make it more than a one-shot.

_._

The walk home from school was long and awkward.

Nogla’s quick strides kept moving him too far ahead and he’d have to stop and wait for Brock to keep up. He suggested holding hands but Brock shook his head with a faint blush.

His heart was poor he didn’t want to give away his romance just yet.

That feeling when you say something you don’t mean but don’t regret. It was itching along Brock’s back along with the need to take back his notebook and pretend Nogla never saw it.

Feelings, words are complicated things. Heavy.

Weighing him and wrapping around him with chains, weights that he could call out to and name, do everything but hold it in his own two hands.

Nogla was too tall, too skinny, and moved far too fast.

“Come on,” he called out over his shoulder, messy hair getting in his eyes as he looked back at Brock walking, stiff, shoulders high and fists in his pockets.

“It’s only a few more blocks,” Nogla reassured, reaching back one more time, hand extended, reaching out for Brock.

“We’ll be home soon enough.”

And the wind is too cool, it’s too close to winter too far into autumn to be walking down the side of the block like this underdressed and with the chill biting at the back of his neck.

Brock keeps his head down, watching his shoes miss the cracks in the sidewalk as he moves, and tries to think of the right thing to say.

_Praise? Joy? For this boy you’ve never actually spoken too and only ever watched from afar?  
_

Nogla slows his strides, and waits on the edge of the road, balancing over the curb and watching. His mind trying to make a decision but not being able to process the input.

_Why? Why are you so distant now?_

Brock walks past him without even stopping, and is several feet further down the sidewalk before he even thinks to look up, watch out for curbs or cats or whatever else may lay in wait before him.

Only empty roads.

The walk is empty, the trees sway in the breeze and he’s cold right down to his bones, _abandoned_ , left alone..

“Brock?”

From behind, his heart begins to beat again so suddenly it scares him he spins on his toes to look to wonder to ask why–

_Why did you leave?_

But Nogla is still there, the fear is only in his heart.

Brock holds a hand to his chest, his still beating heart, and waits. Unable to form the words he wants to say.

Nogla steps up, stops right in front of him, a whole head and a half taller his hair still falls in his eyes and he is awkward on his feet shifting from side to side.

“We don’t have to, you know,” he starts. “If you really don’t want to..”

Brock can’t keep his gaze, looks to his shoe laces, the cracks in the sidewalk.

Anything that can support him.

_Just want to go home.._

“Hey.”

Brock looks up at the gentle nudge to his shoulder to see Nogla, still there, leaning against him.

“It’s not a date unless you want it to be, you know..?”

Nogla smile is warm and he leans against Brock, almost pushing him over he’s so much taller than him, but he’s too stubborn and won’t give up easily.

“You know..?” He says again, and nudges Brock with his elbows, trying to get a laugh out of the other boy.

Brock’s smile is distant and slow to rise, but it creeps across his face inch by inch until he’s nudging back at the other boy. Hands still in his pockets, heart still heavy and feeling fragile.

Like confetti.

Too loose, something artificial something that can be easily lost and scattered across the floor.

“Let’s go home,” Brock says instead. “My mom’s making brownies.”

The safety and comfort of his own home own familiar surrounds. His mother there to guard and guide him.

But when she opens the door and sees Nogla standing beside him, holding his hand as the boy keeps wanting to do, will she kick him out?

Or let him come home?


End file.
